Britannia Rises: ruling the waves was just the beginning

By Russell Dumper

‘Britannia Rises’ tells the story of how, in the near future, the British Empire faces a pivotal crossroads. When the queen dies, her peaceful, prosperous reign comes to an end after more than seven decades. The new monarch must tackle challenges from within his own family and decide how to keep The Empire competitive with their most powerful rivals. The other world powers are looking for any weakness they can find to subjugate Britain and take their place as the most powerful nation on Earth. At the same time, King Alfred must preserve the peace and focus on Outpost, the cooperative programme that will ensure the survival of the human species. Jamie Bayston is a young teacher, embarking on a wonderful life, who has the misfortune to witness a murder that will plunge him into the dark world that exists between The Empire and its struggle to maintain order. He must run and fight to keep himself and his family safe while facing up to the truth that the world he knows is just a small part of what’s really out there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Conrad Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781839786549

Book preview

Character Guide

Jamie Bayston - student teacher

Edward MacLoughlin - former SAS/anti-Imperial operative

Trevor Layttle - K6 Director

Robert Royce (The Tracker) - former SAS/street fighter

Letitia Pearl - Dayak

Alfred - king

Leopold/Christian - princes

England

William/Maggie/Anthony/Debbie - Bayston family

Peter Smythe - MI6 Director

David Beckham - English PM

Horace Nesbitt - Imperial general

Jude Astor - Imperial Chief Justice

Angela - queen

Tiffany      - wife of Leo

Rebecca - wife of Chris

Max & Gugano      - Leo’s operatives

Nepal/Asia

Krayak, Deco, Lindo, Duro - Dayak

Dermot Monaghan - Captain - British Butchers

David McNeary (The Haggis) -      Captain – The Scots

Nimko/Tarnat/Genghis - Asian generals / commander

European Union

Sebastian LeCourte - criminal boss

Frank Arnborg - MEP

Jacques Fontane - EU President

Prologue

The near future – London, England

I

t may not have been the coldest November on record, but it might have been the bleakest. Most days the frigid mists lingered past noon. There were odd days where the sun managed to break through for a couple of hours, but the darkness soon took over and the mists swept back in with it. No mist today, though. Today the rain cleared it before breakfast was over.

It was as if the weather was able to sense the mood.

The heavy, grey clouds hung low in the sky and the scent of damp filled the air. There was no traffic around central London today, but the air didn’t feel clean. It felt heavy and thick.

The black quickly absorbed the little light that did come from the occasional cloud break. There was black everywhere. Every building had black curtains or blinds closed, most of which had been custom-made for the event. Some of them had writing on, others just had her symbol. There was an especially large banner hanging from Big Ben, the letters ‘ER’ woven in by thousands of school children, most of whom were standing on the side of the road in their black uniforms, heads bowed and waiting.

The procession left Buckingham Palace and crept along The Mall in the rain, which had eased up a little as the morning progressed. They would end at Westminster Abbey for the service and eulogy. This would be the first public appearance by the new king, so it needed to strike the right note with the public.

After that, they would all move on to Windsor for a private service during her interment, next to her beloved husband and ‘Papa’. The public lined the streets all the way from central London to Windsor. Honorary columns were marching through cities, towns and villages all over the country.

Similarly, there were marches and cavalcades shown on the screens in Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus. Sydney, Delhi, New York, Washington, Accra, Toronto, Beirut, Cairo, Auckland, Cape Town. Every major city, and most smaller ones, had arranged some show of respect for her. It wasn’t just that it was their duty as her citizens. The majority of people genuinely loved her.

The long, black Rover idled along at the front of the procession. The single driver was the Prime Minister, who she had personally chosen for this honour. Nobody else rode in the car. In the back was a lead-lined, oak coffin, crafted from a tree grown in Windsor for exactly this purpose over three decades before.

Next were three black figures. The new king and his two sons. They walked slowly, heads bowed, hands clasped at the front, ignoring the rain and refusing to carry an umbrella that would both show a lack of respect and weakness.

Behind them were a vast assortment of royal family members, politicians and dignitaries from all over the world. A few had joined the parade on horseback and were directly behind the new British triumvirate, with the cars and limousines at the rear and a few walkers scattered amongst them all. There were three black Rolls Royces at the front of the convoy, holding the closest members of the Royal Family. The new king’s two brothers in one, the wives and children in another and his sister on her own in the third. He had allowed her to come out of exile for the funeral, but she would not be publicly recognised as a member of the Royal family ever again.

Behind this were the heads of state of each country in The British Empire. The assortment of black Bentleys, Rovers, Aston Martins, Jaguars and Minis each carried two flags, held aloft from a pole jammed in the rear windows. One flag was the Union Jack, the other was their national flag.

Next were an assortment of military personnel, handpicked to represent their division or regiment. This was the highest honour any of them could ever have hoped for. Some were on horseback, some pulled gun carriages, others marched. In the middle was a band, but they would be silent until the procession to Windsor, aside from the solemn and lonely beating of a single drum.

At the very rear was one black coach, carrying the extended family of the Sultan of Brunei, who had offered to pay for the funeral as thanks for her assistance when the Japanese had tried to invade his kingdom in the early days of her rule.

They reached Trafalgar Square, with Nelson’s Column draped in black, and Prime Minister Beckham eased the Rover all the way around the roundabout. The crowds sobbed, blew kisses and threw lilies of the valley on to the street as the Rover went past. Parents consoled their children and husbands embraced their wives. The only people with their eyes up were the police.

Security was tight. It was, perhaps, the single largest police and army presence for any event in history. Because, although the majority loved her, there were some who did not. She had made enemies over the years. And those people would stop at nothing to ruin the day for everyone else.

As the procession neared the Houses of Parliament, the king finally lifted his head. His wrinkles had become crevasses of late. His thinning grey hair was almost gone from the top, in a windswept, ailing combover. Anguish filled his blue eyes and he pulled the black scarf a bit tighter around his sagging neck. His protruding ears were especially exposed to the bitter wind sweeping past them, but he ignored it as best he could and cast glances either side of him.

Leopold, his eldest son, walked to his left, as the heir to the throne should. Leo was a lot like his father. They were both getting a little portly, but Leo was broader and taller, so it was less obvious on him. Leo was already losing his fair hair, but his blue eyes looked like they were made of ice. He also did not have the ears of his father and he had a bright smile that still lit up any room he entered.

Christian walked to his right. Chris was rugged and brawny, by far the most physically powerful of the three. His ginger hair was only just starting to thin, but his short beard was getting so dark that it was starting to highlight the baldness creeping in. His eyes were also blue, but they were somehow warmer and brighter than those of his father and brother. King Alfred had never understood why.

‘Are you both okay?’ he whispered, turning back to face the front and looking down.

‘Yes, Father,’ they replied together, quietly.

They were arriving at Westminster Abbey and ten, especially selected, members of the Royal Guard were waiting to carry the coffin inside. The King had demanded he be given time alone with his mother before anyone else be allowed to enter.

He waited until the guards had left and smiled meekly at his sons, who both stood dutifully in the rain. ‘I only need a few minutes to say goodbye. I will come and get you when I’m finished, okay?’

They both nodded, so he turned and vanished into the abbey through the enormous stone archway.

Leopold looked across at Christian. ‘Did you wear Armani?’

‘Yea. So what?’

‘An Italian designer? Callous, don’t you think?’

‘They apologised, Leo. It’s done with. Get over it, will you?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They should have been more respectful.’

Christian sighed. ‘Everyone loved Nan. Look at the turnout. In this weather, no less.’

‘She was definitely a force to be reckoned with,’ Leopold replied, a half-smile creasing his lips. ‘I worry about the future, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Father isn’t even planning to tour. Did you know that?’

‘We can tour for him. We should start to take on more, anyway. He’s not a young man.’

‘No, I disagree,’ Leo returned swiftly. ‘We should stay and plan for expansion. Father should tour and take his wife with him.’

‘Well, he will do as he chooses. He’s the king.’

‘Let’s hope he does something to help prepare for the future.’

‘He’ll do what’s best for The Empire, I’m sure. Nan taught him well.’

Leo scoffed. ‘He might do what’s best in the short-term, but I’m thinking about the future.’

‘Whose future?’

‘Ours. Mine. The Empire’s. I have big plans for it, brother.’

Chapter 1

3 months later – Hull, England

T

he frigid February wind swirled around the courtyard and whipped dust up the old, cold brick walls. The sun was out first thing, but the mornings were colder without clouds insulating the little heat it managed to generate. Now the clouds were starting to form and the drizzle started to fall.

Despite the gloom, Jamie Bayston had a spring in his step as he crossed the grass towards the imposing, old schoolhouse. He had two good reasons; it was both his twenty-fourth birthday and his first placement.

He bounded through the door and into the classroom, eyeing the semi-circles of chairs with their fold-away desks on the arms. There were several students already in place, who looked up at him as he entered, but he turned straight towards Professor Ulinov.

She was a slender woman, tall and pale, with matchsticks for legs and arms. She had inextricably long hair, mostly held in a bun on top of her head, which somehow made her skin seem whiter. Her blue eyes were pale grey in certain lights and her tiny mouth made her voice very soft, almost soothing.

There was a large mirror on the wall, with the Russian flag transferred over it, and he caught a glimpse of himself as he walked past.

Bayston was not tall, not short, a fraction over five feet eight inches, and he was quite broad and muscular, inherited from his father and honed playing rugby at school. His blonde hair rested in a centre parting and was a little longer than the top of his ears. His blue eyes were bright and shiny. He did not consider himself especially handsome, but he also did not struggle to attract the women he liked, something his mother always blamed on his strong jaw.

Ulinov smiled as he approached. She proffered a hand and he shook it gently. ‘Hello again, Jamie,’ she greeted, her thick accent almost sounding like a cat purring.

‘Hi,’ he replied, removing his scarf and jacket. ‘Where can I leave this?’

She indicated a chair on the far right of the front semi-circle. ‘Please, that is your seat for this lesson. I would like for you to observe and take notes on how well you think I am teaching.’

Bayston was a little surprised. ‘You want me to do what?’

She chuckled. ‘I want your feedback after the lesson.’

He pointed to himself. ‘You? Want my feedback?’

She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Jamie, you will have the freshest eyes in the room and, if I am to improve and become better at my role, I need the advice of many people.’

He smiled gently. ‘Okay, great.’

She turned away to continue with her preparations, whilst Bayston moved to his seat. He got comfortable, before removing a pen and a notepad. He watched the students arriving, all of them fourteen or fifteen; young men and women; then looked at the professor.

She was teaching at a mid-level secondary school, yet she was known for being one of the foremost minds in the field of Modern History. His father, the local MP, had insisted that his son have the placement with her, even though she was considered controversial in Westminster and some of the local activists had started a campaign to send her back to Russia.

Others thought she might be a spy and, if he was honest, Bayston had thought it was possible, until he met her. Why else would a noted professor be teaching at this school? When he asked her, the answer was simple.

‘I was placed in Hull and this school has the most students per class, so I can reach the maximum amount of ears possible.’

Bayston had then asked her why she needed to reach more ears, to which she smiled knowingly and told him to wait until class.

Now he was here he was finding he could barely wait.

The class began and he watched, an expression of curious wonder across his face, as she thundered away. The tiny frame concealed a booming voice.

‘Okay, we finished the last lesson on the Asian Merge. Who wants to recap?’ She pointed to a tiny girl. ‘Jessica?’

Jessica seemed unprepared for it. ‘North Korea, China, Japan, South Korea and Mongolia agreed to form a partnership and that became the Asian Coalition, ratified by the UN in 1995.’

Ulinov smiled. ‘Does anyone remember what was their primary reason for doing this?’

A proud voice chirped up from the back. ‘To compete with us.’

‘Not just that,’ she replied softly. ‘The EU and Russia were getting more closely aligned in terms of politics and economics. The Middle Eastern countries were looking for allies and Saudi Arabia was coming under increasing pressure to choose a side.’ She indicated a map on the wall, The Empire highlighted in royal blue. ‘It was a strategic move to remain competitive.’

‘Is that why the EU and Russia are so close?’ Another question from the back.

She sat on her desk. ‘The EU and Russia have a marriage of convenience, in a way. They don’t always like each other, but they need each other. It was the same in Asia. Japan and South Korea, in particular, didn’t like cooperating with North Korea, but they needed the military strength they brought with them. China and North Korea, between them, have a huge army.’

A slender, freckled boy thrust his arm in the air and didn’t wait for permission to speak. ‘But why do they need an army? To steal British territory?’

‘To protect themselves, or so they say. Who can tell me how many countries the British Empire invaded during the reign of Elizabeth II?’ There was pensive silence. ‘No, it’s not a trick question. The answer is zero. Military force is not a tactic The Empire uses. Does anyone know what weapon they have employed, time and again, with huge success?’

There was another silence and a quiet voice offered an answer eventually from somewhere in the middle. ‘Economics.’

‘Correct,’ she declared, giving the voice a quick applause.

Hands went up. She picked one. ‘How does that work?’

Ulinov grinned. ‘A very good question and, luckily, we have an economics graduate to explain it to us.’ She indicated Bayston. ‘Jamie, can you answer that one?’

He blushed as every face turned, expectant eyes fixed on him. ‘Erm, I can try.’ He stood up. ‘So, the main exports from China, before the Asian Coalition, were electronic goods, machinery and clothing. Their main food is rice, as you all know. So, the theory goes, in order to attack their economy, you buy up rice and steel to drive the prices up. You can also introduce tariffs on anything they need to import. So, in this case, soybeans, plastics, oil and metals, especially copper.

They needed all these things to produce the items they wanted to export and, with prices going up, they couldn’t stay competitive against the countries that didn’t have these tariffs imposed. With rising prices of food, people need higher wages at the exact time the cost of materials is going up.’

‘Why didn’t the government help, like they do here? When they make more money?’

He nodded fervently. ‘Yes, it’s called Quantitative Easing. Well, in this case, it’s believed that China’s debt was being recalled by anyone owning it. That was private, public and business debt. So the government had no money and nor did anyone else. Plus, they were in chaos. There were lots of squabbles in the government, people vying for power, scandals and who knows what else?’

‘Who was calling the debt in?’ asked a huge boy in the front.

Bayston shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nobody really knows. With their closed state finances, there’s no way to know who they owed money to. It’s likely there were a number of corporations and world banks involved.’

‘I read a book recently,’ proclaimed a blonde girl in the back, ‘that said it was a Korean conspiracy to call in all the debt at the same time.’

‘It’s one theory,’ chuckled Bayston. ‘Although the only people who could probably arrange something like that would be us. In truth, though, it’s quite common. Once people sense their investment is in danger, they want to get out of it. So, once one debt is recalled, the others get nervous and recall theirs. The domino effect.’

Ulinov took control again in a commanding tone. ‘Thank you, Jamie.’ She motioned for him to sit back down and turned back to the class. ‘So, you see, the various political and economic unions that people have undertaken are a direct response to the British Empire.’

‘Are you saying it’s our fault?’ asked Freckles.

The professor laughed. ‘No, not at all. It’s cause and effect. The Asian and European countries have reacted to the strength of the British Empire. It doesn’t matter if it’s a threat, or not. It matters that it’s perceived that way by others.’

‘But we never attacked them. We helped them.’ Freckles again.

She smiled. ‘Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini were a potent force and it’s thought that they planned to take over the British Empire. I know it’s the perception of the British that they saved Europe from tyrants in both wars, but what if I told you that many Europeans blame the British for those wars?’

The room gasped. ‘Why?’ asked a tiny boy from front and centre.

‘There’s evidence to suggest the British Empire actually helped get them into power. It’s undeniable that the British sold them weapons as they marched across Europe. There are those who believe that it was a British ploy to take over Europe, but that Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini actually turned on their king.’

The students sat, open-mouthed, for several seconds, before a large, black-haired girl finally squeaked out some words. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

Ulinov held her arms out and frowned. ‘Maybe, maybe not. What I will teach you to do is look at the evidence objectively and decide for yourselves. It’s all very grey and muddy. Nobody will ever know for sure what happened to get those three on their rampage. What we do know is how it ended. The Japanese paid the price for joining the war and the nuclear age began.’

‘Do you really think this is appropriate content for this class?’ All eyes turned to Francine, a tall, slender brunette with a St George’s cross badge on her lapel.

The professor’s expression darkened. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘It’s not in the curriculum,’ the student sneered. ‘If you’re going to come here and teach, you should at least stick to the approved curriculum.’

Ulinov folded her arms and indicated the badge. ‘I see you’re a part of The King’s Future.’

‘Your purview is to teach us the facts. Not interpret them for us.’

‘My purview, Francine,’ she hissed, ‘is to ensure you can interpret the facts. That requires open discussion of every possibility, even the ones you might not like.’

‘My parents already think you’re a spy. Wait until I tell them what you’re teaching us. They will report you, for sure.’

‘Report what, Francine? That I have told you there are varied opinions on the subject of Modern History? I don’t think that will come as a surprise to most people.’

‘No,’ she snorted. ‘That you’re abusing your position to try and brainwash impressionable young minds with your anti-British propaganda.’

Ulinov’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Well, these are all widely reported opinions, all of which are available to read in the school library. That’s not propaganda, Francine.’

‘All I see is you trying to steal young, British minds.’

The professor scoffed. ‘My dear Francine, I can assure you that, if I wanted to steal young minds, I wouldn’t target one with your grades.’ The class chuckled. ‘But I do think you should spend the remainder of the lesson outside the head teacher’s office. You can discuss it with her.’

Francine stood up sharply and packed her books away into her bag, striding out of the room with her head held high.

‘Sorry, miss,’ one of the young men said softly after she had gone. ‘She don’t speak for the rest of us. We like your lesson.’

The professor smiled, her expression failing to hide the fact it had bothered her. ‘Thanks, Brian. I appreciate that.’ She paused and stared at the door for a few moments, then shook her arms in the air. ‘Okay, shake it off. So, where were we? Next we will discuss how the British protected the Pacific from the Asian Merge.’

Chapter 2

The next morning - Manchester, England

D

avid Hughes loved his office. His wife had started remodelling it the moment the election results were announced and she had immaculate taste. It was a perfect, cubic shape and she used symmetry to make it feel organised. The bay window was enormous, so she had ensured it was tinted for her photosensitive husband, although the limited time he spent there made him wonder if it had been worth it.

She had chosen a dark, royal blue carpet and azure paint for the walls. Whilst he had wanted a wooden theme, she had insisted that metallic furnishing made him seem more modern. This included his desk in front of the window, the table in the corner and four chairs around that, the bookcase that was full of Shakespeare and Dickens, even though he hated both, the filing cabinet, even the photo frames. She had even insisted he had a silver laptop and Device to match the ambience. He had originally thought it looked cold, but she was right. It seemed less stuffy and old-fashioned than the offices of his peers.

The only thing that wasn’t metal, or looked like it, was his seat, which was black leather. He was sitting back in it, nervously fiddling with a solid silver pen.

The cause of his consternation was sitting opposite him, in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. He employed this tactic deliberately. That chair would numb the buttocks of any visitor within ten minutes. If Hughes wanted the meeting to last longer than that, he would move it to the corner table and the more comfortable seats around it.

He was hoping this would not even last ten minutes.

Hughes was a large man, with green, searching eyes and brown hair. He had a clean-shaven face, which housed a square jaw and an aquiline nose. Although becoming more portly with age, he exercised regularly, so considered his physique to be something he was proud of.

However, he was dwarfed by the sheer, rugged brawn of his guest.

Edward MacLoughlin had been a beautiful man in his youth. He had enjoyed soft, well-groomed, auburn hair, which was now thinning and was unscrupulously neglected. His large brown eyes, once so full of lustre, were now dulled from forty-eight years of life and recessed in the cavities of their dark sockets. Huge bags had appeared on the weathered face, which had lost the firm, smooth skin long ago, replaced by a scarred, sandpaper cover.

There were so many indentations, and so much crookedness, that pockets of stubble remained after any attempt to shave, which was why he rarely bothered, even before a meeting of great importance. Which was exactly what this was.

MacLoughlin had delivered his diatribe and was eagerly awaiting the MPs response. He had known of Hughes for a long time, and knew they shared anti-Imperial feelings, but it took a brave man to speak out in favour of America. And brave men were in short supply in politics.

‘Okay, Mr MacLoughlin-’

‘Ed, please,’ he urged in his thick, American accent.

‘I see you elected a new President, Ed. You must be pleased with that.’

He sighed loudly. That was not a good sign. ‘She’s not been very vocal about a referendum,